Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Rosy Cheeks in Times of War

golden goodness,
ripe corn,
screaming through fields,
wind streaming through hair,
through fingers;
we run and we scream
and we steal
(a silent overview in the divisions of our human soul.)

frisking with you,
young sapling,
good envy;
i will pluck you,
and breathe you,
fresh myself with you,
raping and reaping.

fresh youth,
great blue,
your blaze and vitality,
your fear,
your graceful form,
(your sense of my sinister smile.)

you are gorgeous:
snapped in grey,
snapped in mud,
snapped in blood;
and you are beautiful
despite unkemptness and tatters,
(in spite of the ill-fitting),

queer
and in blood
but
beautiful.

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